


Nothing Awful Is Without Its Beautiful Side

by melilia_minor



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Angst and Feels, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Gen, High School, How Do I Tag, M/M, Multi, Slice of Life, kid!Verkwan, teenager!Soonhoon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-10-02 07:38:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17260220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melilia_minor/pseuds/melilia_minor
Summary: Though they have led totally different lives, one as an ordinary farmer, the other as a prestigious lawyer and part-time veterinarian, eventually they shall meet. Or do they have something in common after all?(Hints: a heart needed mending and children.)





	1. A Wrinkle in Time

**Author's Note:**

> (I suck at summary.)
> 
> Okay, so I’m sorry (just a little) if you've come for Jeongcheol since this is probably gonna be more Soonhoon centric from how the first chap plays out. But I mean, Jeongcheol is the adults here so their roles will be as significant, in a different way? There'll be a lot more characters to come so will try to add tags (and relationships) as it goes. (I’m overwhelmed just as of now, phew, what am I gonna do?) Nevertheless, I’ve planned this au for more than a year now (never seen anyone do anything close to it and still wonder why), of course I promise to try my best. Might take years to finish it though.
> 
> There’re flashbacks which will be in past tense; and modern time which will be in present tense, and in which the story develops. So don’t get confused.
> 
> English is not my mother tongue (I wish) so there may be grammatical errors, wrong usage of tense, weird vocabulary from my bad part of Googling, and that stuff. If you spot any, please do inform me (and maybe how to fix it).
> 
> Enjoy reading!

 It feels like yesterday when this took place.

 

 

 

 

 

Just weeks until fall, eighteen-year-old Choi Seungcheol, hair too obviously styled and not really subtly attired, was fidgeting in his seat across who people would call his blind date.

And she was supposed to be so, if not for that none of this was unplanned. Not when their mothers were like sisters and their fathers best friends. Even so, this was the first time they really met though.

The girl was lovely, to say the least. Her shoulder-length hair curved around her perfect, oval face. The soft sunlight complimented her dark locks – which by the way looked very natural, not chemically bleached and dyed like other normal teenagers would prefer – into a lighter shade. If only they were normal teenagers.

Growing up in an expanded family which the whole society looked up to, it had always been about ranks and age, etiquette and manners, tradition and formal parties, pride and face to preserve, distance and speak-when-asked. Even though everyone was supposed to be like peas in a pod, Seungcheol knew he was different and was treated so. Since turning down that offer from the elite medical school, none of his paternal cousins and uncles and aunts looked at him the same.

His father had been unquestioningly heartbroken but what was done was done. His mother hadn’t expressed as much, but he knew she had been equally, if not more, disappointed.

Most people would think curing animals wouldn’t be half as bad a job. Seungcheol had thought so too when he was making his one stupid – according to his father – mistake. But again he needed to remind himself of his father’s family. Not a single one of his relatives that he knew about – and the number of those sure exceeded a hundred – was not a human doctor.

As it turned out, his father compromised the dean for a spot in the law faculty instead – all behind his back because he could really trust his son, of course.

His relationship with his parents wasn’t bad, per se. But after that one time he ‘disobeyed’ them, it was as if their trust on him was broken like that of a glass: sharp, harmful and unfixable.

Sure they acted like nothing had ever happened but something definitely had changed. Like how their gazes turned anxious and wary when the topic of medicine and the like was mentioned. Or like how it felt more interrogative than necessary every time he so much as asked for permission to go out.

“Your eyes are really pretty.” Her sweet voice snatched him back to reality. She hid her soft chuckle and shy smile behind her hand – a way of courtesy, no doubt his mother kept saying this girl was perfect – probably because his zoned-out face was funny or something. “Are they like, natural or…”

“Oh, very much so. I inherited those from my maternal grandmother. Everyone from my mother side does.” If people had a thing for ambidexterity – being equally adapted in the use of both hands, they _definitely_ had a thing for heterochromia – having different colored eyes.

Normally, Seungcheol would conceal his left silvery blue one with a dark contact lens, or else people wouldn’t stop staring and inquiring the same set of questions over and over – he got praises too, but those alone couldn’t make up for the emotional discomfort.

However, he figured if she was ‘the one’ like his mother’d said repeatedly, he ought to be open and honest to the person he was going to spend the rest of his life with. So that she could see he was taking this seriously, not just his parents.

“Oh, I didn’t notice your mother’s. I wonder if she was wearing contact lens.” The girl, he now remembered her name to be Kim Jiu, chuckled a bit more with that pleasant voice of hers. But somehow her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, or he was just thinking too much. “Honestly, they’d look adorable on little children,” Jiu remarked.

Seungcheol blushed. “Uh, sure. Definitely.” _Okay_ , _that_ _was_ _weird_ _of_ _her_ _to_ _say_ _that_. _Was_ _she_ _referring_ _to_ _their_ _future_ _children?_ He hoped not.

“Do you like children?” Jiu asked.

“I can’t say that, but children seem not to like me.” Oh, how those brown orbs lost their light.

She blinked once before replying firmly. “That can change.”

“I’d like to believe so.” Seungcheol tried for a smile. Perhaps it would make her feel better.

* * *

 

 

 

 

“We’re here, woo!” The five-year-old shoots himself into the pretty much empty sitting room as soon as the door clicks open, surprising spider and other bug inhabitants into their hiding. Dust can be seen spreading evenly via rays of light from the mucky windows.

His older brother who just makes it past the threshold coughs, either from the dust or the constantly moving boy. “No running or you’ll trip, brat!”

“No calling your dongsaeng brat either!” Immediately comes their father’s expected response from the outside, helping the men move bigger stuff into the garage.

“Boo!” Seungkwan sticks his head out from the second-floored corridor’s railing. The older boy feels the need to deliver something from the boxes to the gloating face but chooses to just roll his eyes instead.

“This is not fair.” Grumbling, he chucks the stuff onto the mopping-needed floor and heads back out for more, bumping his father’s shoulder in the process. The adult frowns but doesn’t say anything. A hormonal teen will be a hormonal teen.

“Appa, we’ve got five bedrooms. Five bedrooms!” His youngest son emerges himself from one of the bedrooms again, though he knows his father probably can’t see it. “And- three bathrooms! Why do we need that many rooms, Appa? I think it’s even bigger than our old house.”

He’s at the foot of the stairs now, having skipped a series of steps. Seungcheol can only smile fondly at how adorable those cheeks are. “Kwanie, here in the states we need to have something called a guest room. For when someone comes to stay the night. And since we’re nice people, we have two.”

“ _Two_. Does that mean I can invite friends for sleepover now?” His dark orbs go even wider at the realization. His father nods to confirm his long yearning wish.

“Since Grandma’s not here to say no, I guess that’s fine.”

“If you’re gonna make any.” Jihoon cuts in quietly, adding a few more boxes to the soon-to-be-pyramid heap.

“Are you talking about yourself?” Seungkwan smirks.

“Yah-”

“Okay, okay, today’s a big day so _no fighting_.” With his authoritative father voice, Seungcheol turns to his youngest son and then softens at his oldest one. “Seungkwan, it’s your turn to go help out. Woozi, why don’t you go pick a room for yourself?”

The loud boy claims before disappearing into the heat of summer. “The one with the balcony is mine! Oh hi, Norangie, are you awake?”

Norang is one of their cats. The one-year-old, male Bombay greets back with a lazy purr and proceeds for its owner.

“Yes, Dad.” Ignoring the younger’s earlier shout, Jihoon picks up the feline that’s nuzzling between his legs and drags his legs to the wooden steps.

His father is the only one (allowed to) uses the nickname Woozi, which he claims is shortened from ‘Uri Jihoonie’, and he barely uses it at all. But when he does, it means he’s desperately pleading or becoming tired. Or both.

Hearing the scratching noise at the door, Seungcheol goes straight to open it, revealing their other older kitty Nabi and the chirping preschooler not so far out of sight. “Oh right, we need to have your flap installed, don’t we? Moving in sure is a lot of work.”

The Egyptian Mau meows back in agreement.

 

 

 

 

 

By the time they’ve unloaded everything and the moving truck leaves, the boys ignore the filthy surface and each sprawl out in a corner. The kittens are nowhere in sight, possibly around exploring the new place.

In the end, Seungkwan gets the room with the balcony without much dispute since the older boy can’t care less about where to put his bed as long as it’s sizable and quiet. So yeah, maybe he’d prefer to be at least a room away from his brother, who loves to sing at the ungodly hours.

Seungcheol himself feels like joining his kids, but there’s still a long list of what needs to be done. He claps. “Attention, boys. We’re leaving in ten.”

The shade and sky imply it’s sometime in the afternoon, and Jihoon feels like passing out from the jet lagging but asks anyway. “Where to go?”

“Appa, can’t that wait for tomorrow? I’m sleepy.” The youngest chimes in with a whine.

“Unfortunately, we still need no end of things – including the kittens’ dinner– and we should probably get some grocery. Good thing the HVAC system works fine, but I need to have someone see the lights or-”

“ _Dad_ ,” Jihoon says in a warning tone, though face blank. “One at a time.”

So the dad breathes. “First, we get lunch – I know it’s late but no boys in my house starve. Then grocery since the fridge is empty. I guess I’ll deal with the handyman, the schools and the nanny housekeeper, all that, tomorrow.” He finishes off with a smile.

“No, not a nanny again. I’m five!”

“It’s illegal to leave you alone as your hyung might have club and stuff afterschool, which I’m sure he’ll. And I don’t feel like burdening the neighbor who I don’t even know.” There’s finality in his tone before he ignores the sulking tot. “Hoonie, how about a music store tour the day after that?”

“I can get stuff from online, you know. Why go to B&M?” The boy scrolls through his phone to be reminded that there’s still no Wi-Fi, and it sucks.

“And how much do you think the shipping will cost?”

“Not more than the gas bill, I suppose?” He lifts an eyebrow. His father is just (as always) too determined to give up. He’s moved closer to Jihoon now, who eyes him oddly before going back to his phone.

“I bet you're right. Still, you get to see and touch and try real stuff. Don’t you like that?” A nudge on his arm and the teenager gives in, though he won’t really admit it.

“Hmm. Don’t forget phone service, cable and wireless, and- the clinic.” He decides to make a new page of Notes since his father tends to forget things, especially important ones.

The dad brightens at the proposal. “Oh yes – thanks, Jihoon – the clinic, we can go see that, too.”

“Isn’t it past ten mins? Can we go before I do fall asleep?” Seungkwan tries and fails to resist a yawn.

Seungcheol beams at his boys. “Of course, baby, let’s go.”

 

 

 

 

 

Not owning a car wouldn’t cause a tiny bit of hassle in Seoul – but they did own two for no particular reason; apparently, that’s not the case in America where being carless is pretty much like being crippled since everything is so far away. With their current choices, they can either walk all the way downtown – who in their right mind would do that? Besides, it’d take days – call Uber or something, or not go at all – even better, for Jihoon – until they get their hands on a car.

As if a light bulb goes off in his head, their father grabs one of the bicycles lying around in the garage and heads out with the only command of ‘Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be back’. So they wait. Just fifteen minutes and they hear a honk.

As it unfolds (as Dad explains elatedly in the car), Dad borrows one of Uncle Mingyu’s with the promise of taking the latter out to dinner sometime. And out of all cars in the many collections, he has to pick the obnoxiously red Audi Q3 – not that Jihoon cares about cars, he just happens to read the symbols on the back – which pretty much pleases Seungkwan.

Dad likes red and Audi; Seungkwan just likes the attention of people that comes with those.

Speaking of Uncle Mingyu who is one of dad’s few true friends, he lives and works as a thriving fashion designer and photographer in downtown Lodi, and is the reason they even got the house in the greatest deal possible out there in the first place, which is really nice of him. And now he’s lending his dear Audi to their father who isn’t exactly known as the calmest driver (but somehow knows the way around here without a map).

God bless Kim Mingyu of Lodi who he’s never met. He hopes he soon will.

 

 

 

 

 

They have their late lunch at a place that sells what they call ‘taco’ – kinda like a Mexican version of ssam, with flour in the lettuce leaf stead – and it’s...interesting, Jihoon has to admit. And gua-ca-mo-le – yes, he has that jotted down alright – is amazing, a person whose cooking is not his forte like Jihoon wants to look up the recipe.

Another thing Jihoon’s never truly seen for himself until today is how fluent, communication or not, Dad is in English – not just fluent, his pronunciation and accentuation are perfect; and how it makes him feel bad and guilty for not trying hard enough in school all those years ago. He knows it isn’t really mature of him to blame the fact that he wasn’t born and raised overseas like Dad was. But he just can’t help the feelings, just like how he just can’t help watching him converse with the cashier like they’re friends in awe.

He also doesn’t realize he’s stopped putting the grocery back into the cart until Seungkwan pushes him outta the way. Now he feels embarrassed as if he’s been caught staring. Which he isn’t.

“Hyung, are you okay?” The younger boy asks, a bit concerned since his hyung’s face is all red. Jihoon makes the slightest attempt of a nod before going back to filling the cart. Seungkwan shakes head at his brother’s weird antics that can be spotted from time to time.

But his (bad) luck doesn’t stop there (never will as long as he’s stuck with those two, it seems) as his father decides it’s a good idea to introduce your kids to a stranger whom he’s met scarcely two minutes ago.

“This is my oldest Jihoon, and that’s little Seungkwan.” Seungcheol says in English, motioning respectively, then in Korean to the kids. “Hoonie, Kwanie, this is Aminata. She’s been working here for ten years, so you’ll be seeing each other a lot.”

“H-hi, Aminata.” Both kids try their best at English and pronouncing her name. Aminata, Jihoon takes note, is a dark-skinned woman and is taller than him, perhaps almost as tall as Dad.

From an early age, Jihoon’s heard of black people from the TV’s news – if he was lucky that Grandma wasn’t there to turn it off, movies, some books; but Aminata here looks so kind and warm and amiable, nothing like what all those described them to be. And what she has done to her hair is pretty unique and impressive, to be honest. Dreadlocks, they’re called?

Seungkwan, on the other hand, doesn’t look too happy, glaring while Dad spends another two whole minutes chatting away with the checkout staff. Jihoon thinks he knows why so he whispers to the younger when they’re out the exit door, with the cart wheels creaking with the concrete road to double make sure Seungcheol doesn’t hear.

“Hey, Dad talking to a woman doesn’t necessarily mean he has to like her. It’s just talking.”

“But it’s, what if- What do you know!” With nothing to argue back, the dongsaeng stomps away.

 _Moreover_ , _he has_ _the_ _right_ _to_ _let go._ Jihoon sighs to himself and pushes the cart harder to catch up, with a confused Seungcheol trailing behind.

 

 

 

 

 

While they are getting their phones sim cards and plans (plans here are so expensive, they can easily cover his monthly allowance, Jihoon thinks – unless this is his monthly allowance, um, he thinks not – but then again, everything here is expensive), Seungkwan is suddenly determined to have his own phone. If that really happens, it will be totally unfair, because Jihoon got his just a few years back. Good thing it doesn’t because Dad firmly says:

“No, not yet. We’ve talked about this.” Jihoon can see how he’s trying to pull a tough, unflinching-to-those-adorable-cheeks face. Though that can’t fool him, but maybe his five-year-old brother?

“But Appa-”

“Didn’t you always lose something, be it a toy or a color pencil, and Hyung had to find it for you?”

“Don’t compare me with Hyung!” That wasn’t even comparing. Jihoon mentally scoffed.

“Hyung got his phone in sixth grade. Kwanie sweetie,” Seungcheol sighs and softens at the brimming orbs. He matches his little one’s height. “Phones are expensive, prone to being lost or worst – stolen, and you’re not even in first grade. Do you understand me? Above all else, you’ll have school bus and someone to make a call for you at home, if you do need to call me.”

“Plus you have that iPad you never share with me though we’re supposed to be all this time.” Jihoon adds a little more cheerfully than his usual self in hope to quickly dissolve the situation. God, he just wants to go home and sleep.

The troublesome boy looks at his appa, then his hyung, then back to his appa and nods not so willingly.

“Um, sir.” The guy who’s taking care of their phones catches their attention back and starts explaining (Jihoon doesn’t understand a word after that because he speaks too fast). “We’re currently offering a savings plan. See here? If you do bundles, you get TV, home phone, home internet, plus four lines of mobile; and still save thirty percent per month. Sounds good?”

“Sounds like a plan.” His father nods after looking over the handed brochure. Well, duh, it is a plan. “But I don’t think we need that many numbers.”

“You can get one for the little one.” The big, sweet-talker guy eyes Seungkwan whose orbs burn with eagerness and aspiration now. “And the other for yourself. You say you’re a lawyer? One for business, save the other for family.”

So in the end, after little persuasive nudge and the puffy cheeks and begging eyes, we do save money and spoiled-Kwan does get his own phone. Jihoon concludes: His father needs better emotional (or monetary?) control and Life Is Unfair. Period.

 

 

 

 

 

They then drop by a vibrant pet store for the girls and boy at home (read: kittens and Seungkwan’s hamster Boo): a new cat tree – they didn’t bring the old one since it’s all frayed and well, old; special treats they don’t sell at supermarket, and a pair of leashes and harnesses since it seems they can walk their cats now. Dad will even have catio equipment delivered tomorrow.

On their really way back, the beautiful summery sun is setting as they pass by field after field of arable and livestock. Greenery and colorful flowers. Promising crops and fruit trees. A red barn with white trim, next to it a silo – just like in movies. A windmill to go with a water tank. Wait, is that a stable, where they have real horses?

If there’s anything the fifteen-year-old loves more than music, he’d, without a beat, say horses. Jihoon eagerly winds down the window to be hit with harsh wind and the fresh scent of fresh grass and Mother Nature. The last light of the day turns the lea picturesque golden, and it’s like he’s in a dreamland.

His line of sight then flickers to something, or rather someone, perched gracefully on a horseback skillfully rounding up a herd of cattle, alongside a very light-footed, salt-and-pepper canine. A cow has escaped its brothers, and the cowboy – if they’re a boy – is nearing the fence now. Jihoon can feel his heart accelerate to match the horse’s thumping gait.

 _Can_ _a_ _horse_ _outrun_ _a_ _car_? _Or_ _is_ _it_ _them_ _going_ _slow?_

“Jihoon, could you please shut the window? I think the bull will get you.” His father teases but he can feel the finality hidden in there. So he has no choice but to do as told.

Before he can though, the stranger’s sharp eyes meet those curious ones of Jihoon’s own for a fleeting second. Everything turns slow-moving – no, it feels like all else doesn’t even exist – and his biggest regret in life promptly becomes blinking at that exact moment, because a fleeting second later the vaquero and the horse and the cow are gone. Did a stranger just _wink_ at him? Either of them must’ve gone crazy.

“It wasn’t even a bull.” He finds his voice again after a while. His father doesn’t care then.

 

 

 

 

 

That night, the fifteen-year-old boy lies staring at the endless darkness outside from his new bed, in his new room, inside what he’s gonna have to now or later learn to call home.

It doesn’t feel like yesterday that he was most likely unconscious against his father’s shoulder in ICN airport, neither today that he is here in the prominent state of California, the opposite part of the world. Just in a day, his childhood is gone.

His little brother is probably having his homesickness time and his dad is probably coaxing him to sleep with the one bizarre fairytale their mother used to tell a younger Jihoon.

He, too, misses their residence in Seoul; he just never cries, like ever.

Not when his Grandmother hit him for the first time – he was eleven – the one time he forgot to greet (do a full bow to) a few of the many uncles he has because he was busy scolding Seungkwan, who wouldn’t stop running around.

Not when their mother was asking for a divorce.

Not even when he knew she was not coming back.

It’s certainly not that he’s unsympathetic. He feels just as much, if not more, as his dongsaeng; he just can’t bring himself to cry.

You can say he feels the constant need to be strong. To act strong. That make-believe bubble might break someday, but not today. And that’s enough for him.

The fifteen-year-old flips onto his side to pet the sable-coated Bombay curled up in a ball. It seems he’s flipped his mind as well, sending it straight back to the new zone he’s discovered today.

He wonders of the boy who can’t be much older than himself, riding in the vast land of fullness and nothing at all, and blond locks splaying and playing along with the wind.

Of the stranger he realizes he’s mistaken for a typical white kid for his hair and lean figure.

Of the universe and a lot more those mysterious, sharp and intimidate, yet warm and mature all the same orbs hold.

Of what it’s like to grow up as a farm boy, to be loose and free, to be waking up to knowing your hard work and responsibility matter.

And he must’ve been zoning out again because the next thing he sees is his father’s concerned frown at the door.  
“Is everything all right? I did knock, but-”

“I’m alright. 'S just thinking.” Jihoon retreats further under the blanket. The dad looks his son over a few breaths more, then offers a soft smile, his voice gentle like a whisper.

“I sang your brother to sleep. It’s okay if you’d like that too.”

“Dad, I’m fifteen.” He almost groans but can’t help a sneaking snicker at the idea anyways.

“All right, all right. Just thought you looked blank so…never mind, I’m rambling.” The adult trails off on his own accord, shaking his head. “Sleep tight, Jihoonah.”

“You too, Dad.” Jihoon returns. _You_ _too_ , _Mom_.


	2. Mr. Brightside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two households finally meet. Not completely but sorta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter's name is so random.  
> And I'm back after what, a trip to Pluto. Sorry for the wait - and in advance too cuz I'm just uninspired, in general I mean. Dunno if this is what you guys (if you're still here, thank you) expected but, enjoy anyway;))
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> (Maybe it's just me. I sadly just realized I can't post a story without finishing a few extra ahead. Was so (too) excited when I finished the first chap but after that I have been uninspired. Oh well, can't change anything now.  
> What do you do when you're uninspired? - if any of you're some kinda artist.)

Collage was a waste of time and money, they said. That was extremely true for a farmer boy like him – especially the money part. Not only had his family (which had been farmers longer than one could remember) taught him so, the entire neighborhood wholeheartedly had it engraved in their hearts as if it was one of God’s orders or a cult’s teaching. And a cult were they in.

(Well, maybe saved for his da who never said much on his part, always trying to stay neutral at all cost. Ma’s inconsistent temper alone was enough.)

Even his younger, only sister who was twelve at the time was brainwashed into opposing all possibility of him going to college. If she didn’t want to go, cool. But harassing him every time he so much as brought up college or making him the reason of her not getting Christmas presents for the rest of her childhood years was a bit too much – the latter was partly true, but that was another topic.

Poor lazy little girl just didn’t understand. She could get out of _this_ but chose not to. Then she proceeded to complain about it all the time. ‘I hate this farm. I hate my life. Why hadn’t I been born elsewhere?’ ‘Why do we never travel at Christmas? Like, for God’s sake, can’t we just live like any other normal families?’ What a brat, a proud brother she must have.

And he didn’t even know where she got half of her rubbish nonsense from. Friends? School? Strangers online? On top of that, the Yoons were known hard-workers as long as they were known farmers. Just what had gone wrong with the good-for-nothing?

And yes, no Christmas vacation for them, ever. In fact, Christmas, being in the middle of winter, was ‘the rough time’ of the year. Keeping the animals warm and from predators, finding enough to feed, working in snow, and all that.

Hence, anyone shouldn’t be surprised if Yoon Jeonghan seemed a little too enthusiastic on his first day of college, to prove them wrong. He had been through a lot to be standing here today, away from home in Mt. San Antonio College, a veterinary student with sacrificed allowance to buy books and stuff and sacrificed hours of sleep to study.

He still needed to sacrifice sleep to pay bills and the tuition. Yeah, you guess it: working. He must thank his luck or last life’s good deed, for there was an area called Diamond Bar just in ten-minute reach.

Maybe someone had made a joke on whether bars in Diamond Bar were better than elsewhere, in correlation to the name. Jeonghan couldn’t say they were better, but they left his jaw hanging on his introduction to this side of the track; that should be enough to tell you something.

The work itself was bearable, well-paid, and somewhat a fairly dodgy but perfect way out for broke college students. The plus was that many of them were Korean, plenty actually run by Koreans, his current workplace being one of those.

He was walking one of the usual, secret, narrow pathways he had to take to get to work, wearing his hair down as it was hella freezing that day that even suffocated under his scarf he was still slightly shaking; when he reckoned he was in fact being stalked.

Stalking was a pretty strong word but when some-creepy-one had been following him since he left the college gate; and when he stopped, he could see from his peripheral vision the figure did as well; stalking was the word.

An unasked question: why would anyone in their right mind (obviously those guys weren’t) want to stalk a disheveled, zombie-looking dude with hardly any sense of fashion? Sure he had long hair, but he believed his lanky body proportion was a giveaway enough. Here was yet another guy to prove he was fallacious.

It technically wasn’t his first time being stalked, but that didn’t mean it didn’t give him chills and turned him into a nervous wreck every unfortunate time it occurred. That being said, he was normally saved by reaching the bar before anything he didn’t want to imagine could happen.

This was however sadly not one of those nights.

As per usual, his heartbeats quickened in correspondence to his footsteps. The long-haired was now shaking and sweating, thanks to the enthusiast he didn’t appreciate having. He’d gotten at least two more blocks to go; this was bad. Like really bad. Never before had he been followed since the first step out the college gate. But bad days were bad days, and you either fought or lost.

As the student gripped the spray pepper in his coat’s pocket and his steps turned into strides, the following tramps was getting closer and louder. When it was too close, Jeonghan turned and sprayed.

 _Where did he go?_ The alleyway was visibly deserted – as it would normally – and all he could hear was his breathless panting, heartbeats loud in his ears. Too quiet.

Before he knew it, the student felt himself being slammed against the empty building’s wall – so hard he thought he heard a crack in his neck, or head he wouldn’t want to know – as he was turning to run. _Okay, what the actual fuck. How did he-_

Good thing he sprayed out of reflex so now the assaulter was temporarily blind - a similar sight of plausibly anesthetized handkerchief on the ground. _Thank_ _God_.

His legs got him bolting away as his nearly haywire brain recalled its rough analysis of the opponent; Their heights could probably match, but from how he slammed Jeonghan, not their physiques even when Jeonghan still got his build from years of working in the farm. _What exactly was that monster?_

The long-haired fled past another block in a flash. He could see a few people at the other end now. Just one more block and he’d be-

“Not so fast, _cute_ _guy_.” This time, he got yanked by the hair - _damn_ _hair_ – and locked by the neck. “It’s a shame you ain’t got no vag. But that’s okay. We still could have some _fun_.”

The lewd undertone crept him out, sending disgusting, sickened chills down his spine. The same trick wouldn’t work twice when he tried to reach for the spray – despite being choked and manhandled into a crack between buildings – before being shoved face first onto the cold brick surface, arms cuffed behind him.

The perv then started rubbing his not so slightly hard-on against him in a not so slow rhythm. _Real_ _sexy_ position if you ask Jeonghan. The harder he struggled to break loose, the tighter the pressure around his throat.

Dark spots were engulfing his vision and he really was on the verge of life and death because of suffocation when the thrusting stopped. It just stopped. The big, hairy, gross arm also dropped from around his reddened throat – nearly dragged Jeonghan down with it from how heavy it was.

“You okay?” Still coughing and massaging his neck, the long-haired painfully turned to meet the voice’s owner - very pleasant by the way – and almost jumped when he was met with a baseball bat, but then his blurry sight settled on the person holding it - he hadn’t even heard a smack but that didn’t matter now.

Recovered from the unexpected turn of events, the vet student awkwardly maneuvered himself out of the trapped space, past the knocked-out and the baseball man, and started scurrying away. “I- I need to get to work. Thank you, though.”

The person called after him, profoundly confused. “Do you want me to call the cops?”

“No, just leave it there. And you should go, mister.” He couldn’t bear the embarrassment because this stranger man there might as well have seen _everything_ ; his pride hurt.

The other’s last shout of words came when he already was at the other end. “Hong Joshua. I work around here if you change your mind!”

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” He didn’t look back, letting himself disappear into the sparse of people. Everything after that was a blur.

 

If that had been how it ended in real life, he couldn’t ask for more.

That morning Jeonghan woke up with tear stains and a snotty nose. His little princess might’ve heard him sobbing in his sleep as she was at his bed, rubbing her groggy eyes with a deep frown, asking if anything was wrong; and he reassured her with a morning kiss and a no.

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

“Caught it!”

If pride and cockiness could be seen, Jeonghan is sure the boy would be oozing of them at this moment. He goes to massage the other’s ego anyway. “Since when are you so good at catching.” It is more of a statement than a proper question. “Might beat me someday.”

“I just did?” Soonyoung grins right back, ignoring the eye roll he’s rightfully earning. The escaped donkey tries to wriggle out of the suddenly loosening rope around her neck (he was enjoying the compliment alright) and would’ve been on the loose once again had Jeonghan not move in reflex to block the way just in time. The teenager adds sheepishly after regaining his grip and balance on his horse, “Got good mentor.”

“Let’s head back. It’s almost feeding time.” Jeonghan announces after an easy flip to get a strand of hair caused by the morning breeze out of his face.

“Yep. Feeding time!” Soonyoung yells as they begin their trots home. Another long, routine, mundane day ahead of them, but also a very busy one.

 

 

 

 

 

The sight of two small figures waving (and five wagging tails) rather enthusiastically at them can’t be missed even from half a mile away.

Clinging on the coppery fence are Vernon and Sophie. Barking are the puppies (well, most of them _ain’t_ puppies anymore but who cares). Sauntering a little farther back is their housekeeper (who does way more than housekeeping and deserves double her pay) Barbara, or Babs, filled buckets of chicken feed in both of her plump hands. She pauses to nod in greeting, they can’t see her face really well but she is probably smiling, before continuing her way.

The two children work together to open the gate to let the older two on horses’ backs in when they are close enough, then close and lock it with perfect timing so no other animals can get out unwarrantedly; at least for now since these guys are too smart for their own good they’ll most likely find a way out later anyway. Then they can either cause a traffic jam if they get on the road, or get killed by a predator. Neither ending we want here.

Soonyoung hops down from his horse at the same time the barn door slide open and in come running Vernon and Sophie, the latter a little behind due to her shorter legs. The wagging tails all gone as their dad was calling them to ‘dinner’ earlier. “I was the one who caught Riley this time.” He tells them excitedly as tugs the saddle off and goes to brush Ivy’s mane. The mare blows air in his face to show her thanks.

His brother claps with his mouth-hanging expression – typical Vernon – while his sister starts whining. “That is so cool, oppa! Promise to bring me next time, please, please, _please_.”

Despite being born and raised here and all, Jeonghan makes sure to have the children learn about their culture – or more accurately, their ancestors’. Hence, it might surprise outsiders to find them switching between English and Korean ever so suddenly, though of course they do speak the former most of the time; or just slipping in Korean words here and there like Sophie just did.

“Soph, that’s too dangerous!” Vernon quickly protests. Any other sibling would beg so they get to go too, but not this boy whose only concern in life might be this little princess’s well-being.

“Hey, Vern, stop being such an oldie.” Soonyoung waves the younger boy off, turning to his only sister. “Sure, Sophie-yah, you can ride with me because-”

“ _Soonyoung_.” There their dad is, appearing from the other side of the barn with a head shake, a hand on his hips, and Soonyoung knows he’s getting yet another earful.

“ _Yes, Pop?_ ” He’s got that cheeky grin on again, hoping it will somehow get him out of the possibly-being-scolded situation. Which it does as Jeonghan goes:

“It’s feeding time, why aren’t you moving around?”

“Poppa, can I come with you next catch?” Sophie asks hopefully.

The dad signs. “Maybe if someone didn’t forget to put on her hat and sunglasses before going out I might reconsider that.” A violet hat now neatly covers the braided hazel locks. That earns the little girl temporary frown on her thin lips before she joins her brothers who’ve been waiting at the door. Still, Jeonghan hears his oldest whispering an ‘it’s okay, Soph, I’ll take you anyway, just out of Dad’s eyes.’ to his youngest on their way out. What to do with this boy?

It seems Babs has come in when he’s mentally shaking his head because the next second she’s right beside him. “Master.”

He’s almost startled. “Hey, Babs.”

“Um, how do I say this?” They’ve been together on this farm for so long but it’s the first time he’s seen her fidget, so something must really be up.

“What is it? You can tell me anything.”

She takes in a deep breath and lets it out while Jeonghan waits patiently. “You know, I’ve been here before you were born. I was even born here since my parents worked for yours. You could say I’ve seen the best and the worst of this place yet. So maybe it’s not a good time to bring this up but I don’t think I’ll have the courage to otherwise-”

Upon hearing that he’s kinda able to predict what’s coming up next, putting a gentle touch on her shoulder. “Oh, Babs, please, no beating around the bush. You know you can really tell me _anything_.”

“If I say I’m leaving the farm, would that be okay?” She finally blurts.

Well, he didn’t expect _that_. “Is it your pay? I can surely-”

“No, no, it’s not in any way your fault, master.” She puts a hand forward before her master can further freak out, or so it seems. “It’s just… My son’s just divorced. He’s making enough money, but taking care of twin daughters alone while juggling work is kinda a hectic thing.”

“Oh, Babs.” The long-haired man takes her fleshy but liver spotted hand in both of his, sitting them down at an old wood bench. “And you think I would say no? Even if it was any other thing, I wouldn’t keep you back. It’s not and never my place.”

She smiles weakly at this. “I knew you wouldn’t. But the three musketeers…”

“Here, I’ll manage.” He assures her. “Right now, your son and grandchildren need you, the most they’ll probably do in their lives.”

The older opens her mouth to disagree but closes it when her hand is squeezed tight, a wordless plea. So instead she puts her other hand on top and squeezes back just as tight, muttering. “It’s been a long time since. You need someone to lean on sometimes.”

“What?” The younger man blinks.

“Oh, nothing.” She fake coughs. “Thank you, really.”

“No, thank _you_.” Already having enough on his plate as it is, he decides not to pry further and opts for an easy smile, one he always wears around to not ruin the atmosphere, to stop himself from feeling something darker.

 

 

 

 

 

Seungkwan overlooks giant strangers shuffle back and forth in and out of the house from the corridor above, chin on his arm and red dents evident from being there long enough. The space in front of him, though, is too empty, he thinks a circular, multiple-bulb hanging light (he forgets what it’s called) will do. As the though came to his mind, it itches him to tell his dad who is coming down the hall, as he turns.

“Appa,” Seungkwan calls, ignoring a (scary) pale man following in the back, “can we get a, you know, circular hanging light? Like the one we had back at our old house.”

“You mean a chandelier?” The father waves the worker to go ahead without him and sweeps the five year old off the floor. “And where do you think that should go?”

“There.” Seungkwan points the lonely walls and ceiling in front of them.

His appa nods and walks them downstairs, dropping him at the base with a peck on the cheek.

“Oh and Appa,” Seungkwan starts again before his dad can disappear into the crowd that is workers who came in the afternoon to work on ‘cable and wireless’- whatever those mean, “can I go look around outside? I’ve _been_ bored all day.”

His dad looks rather apologetic. “Fragolina,” (Seungkwan doesn’t quite understand how he and Little Strawberry (in Italian) can have any resemblance), “I’m sorry but you need to ask your hyung to go with you.”

Seungkwan immediately pouts, cheeks puffed it’s adorable. “Oh my god, Appa, you could’ve just said I couldn’t go!” There’s _no_ _way in the world_ Choi Jihoon will comply, not that he wants him to come along anyway. But his dad’s (annoyingly) overprotective, so.

“No, I mean it, Kwan-ah!” Seungcheol tries to salvage what he can, then a bulb goes off in his head. “I have an idea.”

 

“No,” Jihoon says without looking up.

Sometimes Seungkwan thinks his hyung does that just to spite him since everyone knows he hates not being looked in the eye (in Seungkwan’s eyes: being ignored) when speaking. Back still to him, Jihoon keeps doing what he’s been doing for hours: plucking the stupid guitar he got from that store they visited in the morning. His dad did ask the five year old if he wanted anything, too, but he told him no because nah, music just isn’t his thing.

Seungkwan grins at what he’s about to say next, “Dad said it’s an order.”

For whole five minutes, it’s like they’re having a staring contest.

“Or he’s gonna take that guitar away, he said.” Seungkwan adds a white lie and he knows he just won because his brother groans (and almost hits the certain someone with the stringed instrument).

“ _Seriously_.”

 

 

 

 

 

That’s how Jihoon find himself kicking pebbles – read: reading a book - on the empty, not-to-mention-scorching-hot street with fenced fields paralleled both sides of it. A rhetorical question: Who the hell goes out at this time of the day? His brother, for one, who is literally dancing meters ahead of him.

“Look out for cars!” Jihoon shouts as he sees a car coming into view from the next hill. His hand goes up to nudge at his glasses that keep sliding down because of sweat. He flips and signs to the next page.

God, where’s he – are they - going? Does he even know direction around here? What if they get lost-

The car swooshes past him - the same pickup he saw from before - making the teen look away from the dust and smell that came with it. When he’s done squinting, the street is empty again. Like utterly void of anything.

“Brat-Kwan!” Jihoon tries. No answer. He quickly bookmarks the current page and put the book down, panic rising in his chest. “Yah, I’m not playing goddamn hide and seek with you here, come out!”

Only his own voice resonates against the searing asphalt, no movement anywhere whatsoever.

Okay, really funny.

Wind suddenly blows hard, trees creating a buzzing sound, and Jihoon doesn’t know if the field belongs to anyone – though it’s fenced, his rational mind tried to reason - if it’s not illegal to step a foot in, but he also can’t go home empty handed (aside from his book).

So he decides to do something, a thing that will later change their lives altogether (but he didn’t know then), he calls his dad.

 

 

 

 

 

“Are you sure you weren’t looking for five seconds?” Seungcheol echoes.

“I swear, Dad. A truck was-”

“Okay, okay, I believe you.” His dad cuts him, probably not wanting the story of the car for the fourth time in the ten-minute span. They’ve been driving along the street that seems to stretch out endlessly, his dad showing up three minutes after he hung up. In Uncle Mingyu’s car, of course.

“What if that car took him?” His dad blurts his thought and they glance at each other. Jihoon doesn’t reply because they have the same thought, just that he didn’t dare voice it out earlier.

“What’s that?”

“What?” Seungcheol follows where his son’s pointing. “Might be a person. Let’s ask them.”

The car stops where they come closest. Even that they’re still far away from the person, and his herd of animals. “Excuse me!” His dad is the one out of the car while Jihoon keeps looking around for his dongsaeng from the inside because, you know, language barrier.

That doesn’t seem to catch the person’s attention the first time so Seungcheol yells louder, with a wave, “Hey! Excuse me!”

Within a few seconds, they’re face to face (not quite since the other’s on a horse’s back but kinda). “At your service, sir, how can I help you?” The boy chirps too bouncily.

While Jihoon’s staring, contemplating whether or not he has met the boy on the other side of the fence before, his elbow saves him the time and energy by pressing on the window switch. Before he knows it, a strong odor hits his nostril. Must be the horse’s.

“Oh, it’s you again!” The blond-haired exclaims before his dad gets to open his mouth.

Funnily enough, this boy looks all East Asian (minus the hair) but speaks perfect English like a native. But who in their right mind judges a book by its cover? He, this stranger, could be multiracial, raised here, born here, elsewhere, or anything and it’ll still be completely out of Jihoon’s business. But also, is it wrong that he’s just pure curious about this boy? – his heart inserts.

That’s when he catches himself. _Oh my god, focus, Choi Jihoon!_

“Um, yes, yeah…” Jihoon finds himself stuttering - because of the language, he tells himself; and not how cool the other is on the horse’s back. “My dongsaeng- I mean…um.”

“What?”

Seungcheol takes the chance to cut in. “We’re looking for his brother, Seungkwan. Have you happened to see a boy, like, this tall? Dark hair, orange shirt.”

“I don’t think so,” when the others deflate (not literally) he quickly goes on to say, “wait here, lemme go ask Pop real quick.”

 

 

 

 

 

“You know him?” Seungcheol asks after a while, blond-haired cowboy nowhere in sight.

“I think?”

“You _think_? That’s funny, mon petit chou.” In contrast to Woozi, My Little Cabbage is out when he’s relaxed. Which is weird considering they haven’t found the troublesome Seungkwan yet. He leans forward on the wooden rail, then chuckled when he realizes something. “Isn’t he the one with the bull?”

“You remember.” His son deadpans back at the nickname, resting his head on the window sill so he’s taking fresh air outside.

“I see you do, too.”

 _Well, he winked at me when we ‘met’ three seconds in. For only God knows why._ But Jihoon keeps his mouth shut until he notices an orange dot. On a freaking horse’s back of course. “I think I see _someone_.”

“Thank God.” Seungcheol signs in relief at that, before his eyes fall on someone else who’s riding the horse. He feels his chest tightens, like he can’t breathe. “Jiu-yah?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was it obvious I wrote Jeonghan's past first and then stalled it for a month?


End file.
